Erik paused, "One volley, just one single volley, and those massive doors exploded into dust. The knights guarding the gate were thrown backward."
As the massive army continued to march through the city square, Bjorn turned his attention away from the ruined gates and looked at the local people of Calais.
Many of the Frankish civilians were huddled inside their homes, peeking through cracked wooden shutters with wide eyes. Mothers held their children tightly to their chests, clearly expecting the Northern soldiers to start burning houses and stealing gold.
But as Bjorn looked closer, he saw something else. He saw the beautiful resilience of ordinary people.
Down an alleyway, a local baker was sweeping broken glass off his front porch, muttering to himself before turning back to tend to his warm ovens.
